But then Tom kissed me, and it was every bit as good as I remembered. He pulled back, checked in -- "I know we shouldn't, but..." I just kissed him back, done with pretending I didn't know what I wanted.
It was a one-time thing. No one really needed to know, right? Except it kept happening, which -- like our friendship -- kind of worked for a while. We kept seeing other people, but one or two times a month we'd lie about where we were sleeping and I'd slip up the back stairs to his apartment. Things didn't really end until the summer after senior year when we were both seeing people we cared about and decided we didn't want to screw that up.
It was hard for me (and still is) to think of Tom in a healthy relationship with someone else, but it meant that I got my life back. I couldn't love anyone, not really, with Tom around.
Sleeping with your best friend brings the highest highs… and the lowest lows
The thing about getting involved with your best friend is this: everything that is great, is crazy great. You know each other so well that there's no need for that awkward, slow slide towards intimacy that characterizes a new relationship. You're just there. They've usually seen you at your best and your most insane; there's a lack of judgment that makes you feel, almost instantly, known. The first time I slept with Tom was hilarious, sweet, and a little perfect. You don't get that with the guy you met at Bowery Electric at 3am on Saturday. I mean, I've tried. But first times have only existed in that way -- something next to perfect -- with Tom.